


Hold me Tight, Keep me Safe (part 1)

by jkkitty



Series: Love Your Brother [11]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Anger, BAMF everyone for Sherlock, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Holmscrest, Kidnapping, M/M, Master/Slave, Sibling Incest, Violent Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:27:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jkkitty/pseuds/jkkitty
Summary: Sherlock has been saved from John’s torture and has recuperated under his brother’s care.  He’s ready to face the world again but wishes to visit John before he does only to find the doctor's mind now occupied by Jim Moriarty.  Sad but prepared to go on, the brothers head home.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Series: Love Your Brother [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/768837
Comments: 18
Kudos: 30





	1. Sherlock Are You Alright?

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock is home with his brother but has he adjusted to what has happened to him.

Sherlock led his brother to the bedroom as they returned from visiting John. Excited, the detective threw off his clothes and jumped the bed.

“Watch your back,” Mycroft warned, thinking about the stitches still present.

“Yes mother, now get over here and make love to your brother,” Sherlock called out.

Joining the detective in bed, Mycroft asked, “Are you sure? It hasn’t been that long since everything happened.”

Sherlock grabbed his brother and began to kiss him deeply, “Does this look like I have doubts?” 

The men slowly kissed and cuddled. Touching and licking each other’s’ bodies, they took time to enjoy the closeness.

“Take me,” Sherlock whispered suggestively handing the lube to Mycroft.

Mycroft placed a pillow under Lock’s hips, then asked him to open his legs slowly. At the first touch of his anus, the detective’s scream of “stop” caused Mycroft to jump back in alarm, “Love are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

“I’m sorry. It just came out,” a tearful Sherlock hid his face in his pillow. “I promise that I wasn’t teasing you and really wanted to have you make love to me. Why can’t I make love to you?”

“Sherlock, I know you weren’t teasing me. It’s just too soon, and you need more time to allow what happened to fade a little. I know you won’t like my suggestion, but would you like me to….” 

“No, please don’t suggest it. It’s bad enough that your men and Gary’s people who probably told most of the NSY knows what happen, I can’t tell anyone else about it. Please don’t make me.” Sherlock begged his brother.

“I won’t call little brother, but if you change your mind, just let me know,” Mycroft said as he started to get up to allow his brother some privity.

Sobbing, Sherlock pleaded, “Please don’t leave me because I’m broken.”

“Never. I was just giving you some time. After being upset, you always wanted to be alone in the past.”

“Can we just make an exception this time, and you hold me?” Sherlock asked softly. “Only if you still want me.”

Mycroft climbed back into bed, “I will always want you, any way you need.”

Sherlock laid as the small spoon to his brother, only falling asleep after hours of worrying as to what the future would be. Would Mycroft really be happy with him the way he was? Right before he closed his eyes, he knew he would make the most of his brother’s love until Mycroft no longer wanted him.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Both were sleeping when Mycroft’s phone rang. He ignored it for the first two rings when a sleeping Sherlock said, “You know that you have to answer that, so please do it, so I can go back to sleep in peace.”

Mycroft huffed as he did, “Yes,” he barked.

As his brother listened, Sherlock could feel Mycroft tightened. “What is the situation now? I’ll be there in an hour, keep the idiot in the conference room until I arrive.”

“You need to go,” Sherlock didn’t ask but said.

“The PM is at it again. If I don’t go in, I swear he’ll start a war within 24 hours. I’m so sorry Sherlock.”

Smiling sadly,” We both have jobs that won’t wait at times. Just go. I’ll be fine.” Mycroft went to open his mouth, but Sherlock said first. “No, I don’t need someone with me. Actually, I might go to visit Mrs. Hudson for a while.” 

“Are you sure that you are ready for that? She can be a little….” Mycroft couldn’t quite come up with a word to describe the lady.

“Motherly?” Sherlock laughed, “She can be a little overbearing but means well. I could use a little of that type of care right now.”

“And Mother can’t give it to you, I know. I’ll have Jeffry drop you off on my way to the office. If you’re done before I get back, just call him please?”

“Yes mother,” Sherlock teased. Forgetting about sleeping, he jumped up, dressing excitedly knowing that he needed to get out of the house sooner or later, and Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits and tea were just what he needed right now.

As the car pulled up to Baker Street, Mycroft kissed his brother. “Just call if you need me.”

Getting out of the car, Sherlock smiled. “I’ll be fine. Just go stop the PM from starting a war.” Mycroft watched as his brother walked towards the door but stopped to look up to his empty apartment. A few seconds later, the detective opened the door and with a wave entered. Tapping on the divider, Mycroft sat back, the concern about the PM overshadowing the worry about his brother for a while.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mrs. Hudson said, pulling him into the lower apartment as he continued to look up the stairs, “Oh Sherlock. I’m so glad to see you. Come in, the tea kettle is on, and I just finished baking your favorite biscuits.” 

“Mycroft called you, didn’t he?” Sherlock asked as he sat down at the kitchen table.

“Don’t you get angry at him. We both know how he worries,” she scolded.

“Defending him, I remember when you hated him.”

“You love him, that’s enough for me,” she handed him a plate with warm chocolate chip biscuits.

They ate and talked slowly. Neither mentioned John, but both knew the topic needed to be addressed.

“Mrs. Hudson, you can ask.”

“I didn’t want to upset you, but I do wonder how he is. I know that he hurt you badly and caused you to be hospitalized again.”

Sherlock dropped the biscuit he was eating. “Not well. He has completely lost himself, and the doctors don’t see him improving. I know it’s my fault that this happened. I must have led him on, but I don’t know what I could have done differently. I tried to be his friend but must have done it incorrectly. He knew about my brother, and I thought he accepted it.” 

“You stop that right now,” she ordered, taking his hand. “You did no such thing, and this isn’t your fault. John always had an anger problem and has been possessive since he moved in. I believe that he felt you only went to your brother because he said he wasn’t gay.” Mrs. H scolded. Anyone that knows you can see how much you love your brother. Now eat up those biscuits I made for you, and we’ll go upstairs to see what you need to take with you until you feel strong enough to return here.”


	2. A Case!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock visits Mrs. Hudson and meets up with Greg.

Sherlock walked around the apartment, touching things that John had left before placing them in a box. The doctor’s favorite teacup sat in the kitchen. In the bathroom, he found John’s shaving and bath items. He stopped at the steps leading to the second bedroom for a moment before continuing up them.

The closets and drawers were empty, but the bedside table held a few more books, and on top of it, a picture of the two of them smiling. Sherlock sat on the bed, holding the photo, remembering the happiness of the day it was taken.

“Sherlock,” Mrs. Hudson tried breaking through his thoughts.

“We did have some good times,” the detective said more to himself than anyone else.

Taking the picture out of his grasp hands, Mrs. H placed her hands on his shoulder. “Come back downstairs. There is nothing but sad memories here.”

Going down to give Sherlock some time alone in the flat, she reached the last step as someone knocked on the outside door. Opening it, Mrs. H. found the DI standing there. “Detective Inspector, come on in now. It’s nice to see you again, but I’ve told you that you don’t need to keep checking on me.”

“You know that Sherlock would never forgive me if something happened to you,” Greg kissed her on the cheek.

Laughing lightly, Mrs. H glanced up the steps, “But you didn’t have to check today, Sherlock is upstairs.”

“Do you think I could say hello to him? I haven’t seen him since he left the hospital.”

“I don’t see why not. I’m sure he’d love to see you,” she encouraged Greg to go up. “I’ll bring up some tea and biscuits while you two talk.”

Lestrade took the stairs two at a time only to see Sherlock standing at the top of the steps. “Did you miss me, Graham? I supposed the NSY is going downhill without me there to show your team how to do their job.”

“Always glad to see you too Sherlock, and listen to your opinions on how I do my job.” Greg's sarcasm made both men smile.

When the men were sitting down, Sherlock in his chair and Greg in ‘John’s, ‘no, I have to stop thinking of it as John’s chair,’ Sherlock thought, Mrs. H arrived with the tea and biscuits. “I’ll leave you boys to talk.”

Greg grabbed some biscuits and a cup of tea, “How are you doing?”

A little annoyance entered Sherlock’s voice. “Why does everyone assume there is something wrong with me because I took a little time off?”

“I know it was more than just a little time off. I meant nothing by that. Just one friend concerned about another.”

“Friend?”.

Greg was shocked that Sherlock didn’t know how much he cared for him. “Of course, I’m your friend. Why else would I put up with your antics?” 

Sherlock had a confused look on his face. “It’s just John always said that he was the only one who was truly my friend. I mean, I said it a long time ago, but he insisted it was true. He said people only wanted me around to do what they needed.”

“I’m not sure how to say this, but Sherlock, John liked being known as your blogger, and being by you brought him fame. He wasn’t a friend. He was a user.”

Sherlock thought about it but felt he wasn’t ready to believe it. “I guess my nerves are a little tight. Soon, I’d like to get back to work. Any interesting cases Gray?”

Before Greg could answer, his phone rang. The conversation was short, but after it was over, he stood up, “Sorry, business calling.”

“Anything I might be interested in?” Greg could see Sherlock’s eyes lighting up in hope.

“Not sure Mycroft would appreciate it.”

“My brother is not my keeper. I can do whatever I want when I want. Now can you use my help or not?” Sherlock snapped.

“Come along, but promise me if you begin to feel uncomfortable that you will let me know.”

“Fine, if that’s what I need to do to get you moving, I promise.” Then he began to run down the stairs.

+++++++++++++++++

Arriving at the site, no one called Sherlock freak or gave him a hard time. “I almost miss Donovan,” Sherlock mumbled, causing Greg to stop next to him.

The DI shook his head, “No one to fight with? I thought you might be happy she was gone.”

“I know that she ignored my kidnapping, but she usually was a good cop. Was it necessary to send her to the edge of civilization?”

“Your brother’s doing, but to be honest, I agreed with him. She let her personal feelings interfere with her job causing you more harm than necessary,” Greg shrugged. ‘I’m hoping someday she’ll return with a better attitude.”

“I’ll talk to Mycroft. Her transfer was my fault, and I’d like to make it right.”

“Sherlock, it’s not your fault.”

Not responding to Greg’s comment, the DI entered, followed by Sherlock. Inside a man was lying on his stomach, legs tied and elevated, hands bound above his head, his back, thigh, and buttock was cut up from a whip and a cane, and a large butt plug in his ass. A tube was running out of his nose.

Greg was too late to stop Sherlock from entering. One look at the man had Sherlock running from the room and hiding in a dark corner of another room.

When Greg found him, the detective was staring off into space.

“Sherlock, sunshine,” Receiving no answer, he touched him. “Come on buddy, talk to me,” When he still received no response, he groaned, “Mycroft’s going to kill me.”

Dialing Mycroft, the DI paced.

“Make it fast, I’m busy” Came a blunt answer.

“Mycroft, this is Greg.”

“Can we have this discussion later, I’m trying to put out some fires here?” Mycroft demanded.

“I was in Sherlock’s apartment when the office called in a case. He insisted on coming with me,” the DI stated.

“How could you be so irresponsible? You know what his doctor said about giving him time to get over his torture. What happened to my little brother?”

“Mycroft. Someone when out of their way to imitate what John did to Sherlock. He saw the body and ran into another room. Right now, he is nonresponsive and hiding in a corner.” 

“Give me the address, and after I take care of him, you and I are going to have a long talk,” Mycroft angrily headed toward his car.

Greg met him to guide him to the room. When entering the room with Sherlock, Mycroft hurried to him. “Lock, I’m here. Can you hear me?” 

Receiving no answer, “Come on Lock, it’s me. Can you look at me?”

Nothing changed. “Let’s go home.” Mycroft grabbed under his brother’s arms, pulling him up.

“Let me help,” Greg offered.

“I think you helped enough for one day, Detective Inspector Lestrade. We don’t desire any more of your help.”

“Mycroft, I…”

“You what,” he yelled. “You know that I told you he wasn’t ready to take cases, yet you allowed him to come to a case that you weren’t even sure as to what happened.”

“He was with me when I received the call insisting on coming along.” Greg defended his actions and getting angry himself.

“Isn’t it strange that you received the call when he was present?” Mycroft demanded. “Who called? I’d like to speak to him.”

Greg opened his mouth to answer, but he closed it when he realized the officer who called was someone he didn’t know. He knew all the staff at his office of the NSY. Besides, the office would have called it in, not the individual officer, unless it was someone on his team. “It was a setup, wasn’t it?” He asked.

“Excellent observation, Detective Inspector. Isn’t it strange that a case was called in when you just happen to be with my brother in his apartment that he hasn’t been in for a few months? A case the same as what Dr. Watson put him through. I am taking my brother home, and hope he comes back to himself. My people will be here to take over this case,” he stated, then added condescendingly, “Any complaints?”

“No. But Mycroft, I’d like to be kept abreast of what you find and help however I can. No one is going to hurt my friend and get away with it.”

Taking a deep breath and knowing that Lestrade won’t have allowed Sherlock’s involvement, “I’ll see for your transfer to my unit until this is solved.” Then he led his brother outside into his car with Greg following. “And Lestrade, if it was one of your people who arranged this,” he said, waving at the building, “He will rule the day he was born.” Before closing the window and tapping on the divider for his driver to leave, he pulled Sherlock into his arms.


	3. Why is everyone so polite?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to know who is doing this to him. Also, why is everyone so polite?

After dressing him in sleep pants and an old tee, Mycroft put Sherlock to bed climbing in with him holding his brother tightly. Sherlock shook and began to moan. Mycroft whispered words of reassurance and love while he rubbed his back and ran his hand through his thick dark hair.

It was beginning to get light when Sherlock murmured, “Mikey?”

Mycroft pulled his brother closer, “I’m here Lock. How are you doing?”

For a few minutes, he didn’t answer, then mumbled, “Who would do that?”

“Love, I don’t know, but my people and Lestrade are working on it. We’ll find who it is.”

Both men were silent for a while, “Mikey,”

“Could it be John?”

“Oh darling, he is locked up so tight and can’t possibly have anything to do with this. He will never hurt you again.”

“It’s just a feeling I have,” Sherlock admitted.

Holding his brother snugly, “I will never let him near you again.”

“You can’t promise that,” Sherlock whispered before the room descended into silence once more. Sitting up, Sherlock turned toward Mycroft.

“Mikey,

“Yes Lock.”

“You know it had to be someone who came into the room with you or someone who saw John’s videos of me.”

“We’re looking into it, I promise. Now rest, you had a shock and need to allow your body to regenerate.”

Curling up, Sherlock relaxed and fell asleep feeling safe in his brother's arms.

+++++++++++++++++++++

Up north, a man answered the phone quickly before it woke up his partner. Getting out of bed quietly, he moved to the bathroom, closing the door.

“What was his reaction?........ Did you managed to get the Videotape out before his brother’s men came?............... How did his face look?........ He did?........ Really his brother had to carry him out of the building?............... I’ll pick up the tape tomorrow and make some pictures from it, making sure HE gets to see some of the most precious ones………. Yea, I’m sure HE will want to start the next stage. By the time we get done with Sherlock, he’ll beg to be HIS.”

Bundle in a blanket, it the cold Scotland hills, she listening to her lover’s side of the conversation. Since she was sent here, her life had been hard. And then he had shown up to reestablish their relationship after his wife left. Why she opened her house to the man, she wasn’t sure, but now she wondered what he had become involved with. He constantly had wads of money and was meeting someone to give them a ‘paycheck’. She was pretty sure whatever it was, it was illegal but wasn’t sure she could live without someone to keep her bed warm.

Walking out of the bathroom, the man ran noticed her awake. “Good morning love.”

She demanded, “What have you done, and who did you do it too?”

Laughing but unsure how much she heard, “Just a little payback to someone who has had it coming.”

“Tell me who?” She ordered.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve got it well under control. Now I have to head back home and get ready for work.”

Bitterly, she said. “Yes, don’t want you to lose that so-called job of yours, do we? I still want to know what you’re getting paid so much money to do.”

“We talked about this before, I need to go,” grabbing his coat, he slammed the door on the way out.

She laid in bed, trying to piece together what she had heard, hoping her guess was wrong.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

“Here you go, John.” The guard called to the doctor, who didn’t hide pretending to be Moriarty any longer. His dinner was placed in the slot. John took his food from the door before turning his back toward the camera and reading the small note on his tray. Moving the dish around, he grabbed the tiny pictures.

Holding his fork in his right hand while gripping the pencil hidden under his plate in his left, he wrote, ‘Start stage two, he’s reacted as I thought he would.’ before finishing his dinner. Hiding the pencil under the dish and the note under his glass, he placed the tray back into the slot.

Laying on his side that faced away from the camera, he looked over the pictures. Smiling, he knew that it wouldn’t be long before Sherlock showed up again. And when the detective appeared, he would pretend to be defeated. Once Sherlock saw the ‘broken man’ performance, Sherlock would understand that the doctor was rehabilitated and would do anything to make up for his actions. The detective would no doubt beg for John’s release and reinstatement as his flatmate.

++++++++++++++++++++++

It had been two weeks since the crime scene, and Sherlock headed toward NSY. To protect Sherlock, Lestrade had checked out a case he needed help with, ensuring that nothing would surprise the detective. Mycroft had insisted he take one of his drivers until they found out who had set up the body a few weeks before.

Entering NSY, he was greeted with, “Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes,” and it continued throughout the building.

As he opened Lestrade’s office door, he demanded, “Why is everyone so polite? I don’t know how to handle polite.”

“They’re just showing you the respect you deserve.” Greg pulled out the file he needed the detective to examine. “About time for all you do for us, don’t you think?”

“Where’s Anderson and Donovan? I could use some normalizing around here.”

Greg shook his head, “I thought you would be happy to see them gone.”

“This is Mycroft’s doing isn’t it,” Sherlock’s voice rose as he pulled out his phone. A minute later, he didn’t wait for his brother’s greeting, “Can’t you let me deal with my difficulties? I don’t need you to remove those problems. Get Donovan back here now!”

Calmly Mycroft answered, “Hello, little brother. I see you’re getting your confidence back. Miss Donovan was transferred when she refused to do her job, causing you to sustain severe injuries. No different than any other officer that didn’t do their job.”

“I don’t need you fighting my battles.” Sherlock inquired angrily, “And what about Anderson? What did you do to him?” 

“I wasn’t involved in his dismissal. He made one too many insulting comments to a commissioner, and the man wasn’t amused. He is the one who fired that man. Now, what is the problem?”

Sherlock had walked to an empty office still on the phone, his voice lowering. “They’re all too polite, and I don’t know how to handle this change. You know change makes it hard to think.”

“Little brother, I’m sorry. That woman just made me so angry when she refused to even look for you. By the time I spoke to the commissioner, he already was outraged with the two of them. He was ready to fire them both, but I’m not stupid. Although Miss Donovan harasses you, I know she is a good cop normally, so I suggested her transfer to the outer position. As for Anderson, the commissioner refused to move on his termination.”

“Mikey, Gavin is giving me a case, and I’ll head home. Will you send a car, please? I don’t feel well.” 

“I’ll have one there in ten minutes if that will give you enough time to finish up.”

“It will, and Mikey, I’m sorry I was angry, it was wrong of me.”

Mycroft could tell Sherlock's confidence was still fragile and easily damaged. “And I’m sorry that I did something without talking to you about it. I thought that it would make it easier for you.” 

"It's alright," Sherlock


	4. Don’t Express Regret For Your Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's another attack on Sherlock, this time by phone.

In the office Mycroft had given him, Sherlock looked over the file with his crime board behind him. Instead of holes going into the wall that would upset Mycroft, they were going into an installed wall-size corkboard. Mumbling about the stupidity of the police, Sherlock began putting clues together.

When the phone rang, he hit the phone button and thumbed the speaker without looking at the caller ID. However, he did remember to press the record button, a habit he had picked up when John answered his phone and misunderstood information from clients.

He placed the phone next to him; he began to shake when listening. ‘He heard John say, “You always used a riding crop to know how bad flesh bruised after death. Now I’m going to show you what happens when you use one on living flesh.” He heard the sound of John whipping him as the lash landed across his back and already bruised buttock. As the crop fell, he heard himself yelling out in pain.

Sherlock dropped the phone covering his ears, falling to the floor, and curling into the corner. He crouched there until the maid brought in his tea. After not getting an answer, she was worried and called Mycroft.

Mycroft listened as she explained her concern, “Give me ten minutes, and I’ll be there,” It was clear that Mycroft was emptying his desk in a hurry.

Arriving home, Mycroft found Sherlock in the detective’s office still in the corner. He seemed to be staring at nothing.

Mycroft sat down beside his brother. “Lock, can you hear me?” 

The detective nodded.

Mycroft spoke softly, afraid of distressing him more, “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

Sherlock pointed to the phone.

Picking it up, Mycroft hit the button and began to play to the message. After listening to a little of it, he hit the stop button. Standing up, he angrily headed for the door.

A small whisper called out, unsurely, “Mikey?”

Turning around, he hurried back to his brother. He knelt and hugged Sherlock. “I’ll be right back after I call Anthea. Are you okay to stay here?”

Shaking his head, Sherlock hung on to Mycroft.

Mycroft sat back down beside him. “Is it alright if I ring Anthea from here?” Sherlock seemed to think about it. “I promise to stay in your sight,” he assured his terrified brother.

A soft nod answered him.

Anthea answered, “Sir, what do you need?”

“I need you to trace a call that came into my brother’s phone. It was an unidentified number. I want the people who sent this, now. Tell our people that they don’t have to be gentle when they bring them in.” 

After giving her the time and length of the message, he hung up. “Can we get up and sit on the couch, Lock? I’m getting too old to sit on the floor without doing my back in.”

After settling on the sofa, Mycroft ran his hand through Sherlock’s hair. It took almost an hour before the detective was asleep. Mycroft laid his brother down and placed a cover over him before going into the next room and calling Anthea back.

“Report,” he barked.

“We actually were able to trace the call, and the two men are on their way in.”

“I want to talk to them myself, but at this time, my brother is still shaken up by the contents of the call. Put them on ice after you talk to them yourself. Once Sherlock is alright, I’ll be in.” Mycroft ordered before hanging up and returning to his brother.

It was two hours before Sherlock woke up. Sitting up, he saw Mycroft working on his laptop next to the couch. “I’m sorry and so embarrassed by how I reacted.”

“There is no reason to be self-conscious. It was a shocking surprise. Want to tell me what happened?”

“I was busy with my crime board and answered the phone without really paying attention to who was on the other end of the call, so it took me unaware. I reacted poorly. I apologize for acting like a scared child.”

“Sherlock, don’t express regret for your actions. Are you alright now?”

Sherlock knew he had caused his brother to leave work and rush to his side. This mortified him. Dealing with Mycroft’s response, he felt it was necessary to re-establish himself in his brother’s eyes., “I don’t need a babysitter. If you need to leave, just do it. There is more work to be done on the crime board.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours, I hope,” Mycroft said.

“Go, I’m fine,” Sherlock uttered, standing up to face the board, ignoring his brother.

Mycroft sat for a few minutes before standing and straightening his jacket. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He knew that although his brother was saying one thing, it was clear he needed him. Moving quickly, he planned on getting answers and return as soon as possible.

++++++++++++++++++++

The two men sat in a cold cement room handcuffed to a table. Bruises were seen on their faces. The way they shifted, it was clear they were in pain. Mycroft walked in and sat down across from them, his umbrella behind him.

“Gentlemen and I use the term loosely, I have one question for you, and once you have given me the information I seek, you’ll be relocated in a nice comfortable cell. Otherwise, you will find that the small discomfort you felt when my men brought you in will just be the beginning of what you’ll experience.”

“Ye can't dae this, we r citizens,” one of the men spit out at him.

“I assure you that I can.”

“Me hae nuffink to say to ye.”

Mycroft removed his gloves, “You gentlemen must have misunderstood me. I didn’t ask if you had the information I need, as I know you have it. What I said is that I want it now, or you will find what follows will be anything but pleasant.”

“Ye coppers no’ twatted. I'’s agains' 'he law an' me go' righ's.”

Standing up and walking toward the door, “That’s where you are wrong.” He nodded as he left, “I’ll be in my office. Let me know when they decide to speak.”

An hour later, Anthea knocked and entered his office.

“They spoke?” 

“They stated that they received the instructions by phone. Then 1000 pounds, the recording, and the phone number to send it to came by mail. At first, they said they didn’t remember the number, but later they gave it up. Some men are on their way to pick up the suspect who called them. They also signed a confession and agreed to five years in jail.”

“They do understand what will happen if they change their mind?” Anthea nodded. Mycroft gave a satisfying grin. “Give them basic medical care and have them delivered to the prison gate. It’s always nice to save the crown the cost of a trial.”

“I’ll see to it sir.”

“Thank you dear. When the suspect arrives, let him think about why he’s here in one of our cells. I’ll deal with him later. I want to check on Sherlock.”


	5. I Don't Need A Babysitter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wants to get on with the case, others are concerned about him.

Mycroft arrived home at the same time as Greg. He opened the door allowing the DI to follow him in. Once inside, Mycroft asked. “DI Lestrade, what are you doing here?”

“I wanted to see how Sherlock is recovering,” Greg explained.

“And why would that be? Surely you don’t think he is ready to solve another case for you,” Mycroft still had simmering anger at what had happened the last time Sherlock helped the DI.

“Look, Mycroft, I didn’t realize that it was a setup, or I wouldn’t have allowed him to be involved,” he answered with anger of his own.

“I don’t want….” Mycroft began before a deep voice interrupted.

“Don’t want what? You’re not my babysitter Mycroft. Graham, come in.” Sherlock's expression showed his frustration with Mycroft's overbearing concern.

“Brother, I only meant to prevent you from becoming upset again.”

“I’m fine Mycroft. It’s about time that I stop hiding. Graham, come into my office and see my crime board.”

Greg was surprised to see how far Sherlock had progressed, including information only the NSY had collected. “How did you get some of this information?”

Sherlock looked guilty at the question. Greg grumbled, “You broke into our database, didn’t you?”

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders. “I needed more information and figured you would be busy, so helped myself.”

Greg smiled, “If you say so. You could have asked even if I were busy.” Then requested, “Show me what you have.” 

For the next thirty minutes, Sherlock explained each string, picture, and connection. “So, I believe that this man, Alan Galison, is the one who if he didn’t commit the murder, then at least set it up.”

“Wow, do we have enough to arrest him?” Greg asked.

Discouraged Sherlock said, “No. I can trace it back to him, but not sure where he is.”

The detective sat down, looking defeated. “I’m sorry Greg, I’m not much help with this.”

“Sherlock, that’s not true,” Mycroft said as he pulled his brother into him. “With this information, my people will be able to find him and get what is needed to convict him.”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock and Greg said together.

“It will be legally obtained. After all the work my brother put into this, I won’t dishonor him by using my power or connections to put the man away.”

Sherlock pulled his brother down, kissing him. “Thank you Mikey. It means a lot to me.”

“Are you coming?” Mycroft asked, looking at the DI.

“And where are we going?” Greg asked.

“To his office, of course,” Sherlock said while pulling on his coat and wrapping the scarf around his neck.

When they arrived at the location, the DI was clear to enter the building while Sherlock was allowed in immediately. They entered Mycroft’s office to find that Anthea had lunch with tea and desserts set out for them. Mycroft stepped out to clear up a small incident caused by the PM, who was demanding his presence. Anthea handed a photo to Sherlock, “I believe this is the man you were searching for.”

Staring at the photo, he was interrupted by Greg and placed it down on his brother’s desk.

Greg was clearly impressed, “Is it always this much trouble getting into his office?”

“Much worse. You were with Mikey, so that was just the basic search.” 

“You’re not serious?” Greg said before seeing the smile on Sherlock’s face. “Oi, you git.”

“Had you going,” the detective teased. “But seriously, usually, the clearance is much higher than yours, but Mycroft’s word is the law, so he must have raised your clearance.”

As the men waited for Mycroft to return, they ate and talked about the last few weeks.

“Honestly, Graham, I want to know about the cases you have been investigating. I’m doing better, so unless there is another surprise like the last, I’d like to hear about what you have been doing.”

Once assured that Sherlock was back to his normal self the two spoke about the cases, Sherlock gave feedback and even solved one of them from the discussion. When Mycroft entered, he heard his brother laughing with tears running down his eyes. “What’s so funny?”

“We were talking about some of the cases Lestrade was working on, then he mentioned Anderson’s dismissal from the squad, and we began to talk about some of our older cases while waiting for you,” Loc said.

“Oh, I could use a laugh,” Mycroft said, slumping down in his chair with his head in his hands. “The PM has given me a headache.”

Sherlock went around the desk and kissed his forehead, “Did that help?”

Mycroft grinned, “Thank you Loc, but nothing seems to help.”

“Well, Gill and I were remembering….”

“Greg!” Mycroft and Greg said at the same time.

“Whatever,” Sherlock waved them off, As I was saying, the time Anderson became so angry at me and stormed off without watching where he was going. He slipped on some dog poop and started to fall. Donovan tried to grab at him to prevent him from falling. However, Anderson continued to slide, pulling her down with him. This caused the two of them to land in the mud that had pooled from rain the night before. When the other officers present began to laugh, they were bitching and calling me names and fell again.”

A broad smile appeared on Mycroft’s face. “Oh, Mikey the best part is no one would leave them in their car or taxi, causing them to begin to walk home. Of course, soft-hearted Lestrade felt bad and took them home.” Causing Mycroft to laugh softly.

Greg said, “What was even funnier was someone took pictures and hung them all around the squad room that night.” Sherlock’s giggled caused Greg to turn toward him, “We still haven’t discovered who did that. You don’t know, do you Sherlock?”

Sherlock snicker. When Anthea entered the room, she was greeted by three laughing men, “Gentlemen?”

They looked at her continuing to laugh. “When you three decide to act like grownups, just buzz me. I do have information to share.” She huffed as she left the office

It was almost five minutes later until they were calm enough to speak. “Do you think she’s displeased with us?” Greg asked.

“She’ll is fine. In this office, strange things happen every day. Loc would you like to ask her to come back in?”

Anthea reentered the room without mentioning their behavior. “I have the information you requested Sir. I think you’ll be surprised at who he is.” 

Mycroft’s expression didn’t change, “Are you sure?”

“I double-checked it myself sir,” she assured him.

“What’s going on?” Sherlock demanded.

Taking a deep breath, Mycroft looked at the older picture, “The man you know as Alan Galison is really Vince Gruber. He was a sniper for MI5 who worked with Mary, well Roseland, before he disappeared and went rogue. No one has seen him in at least five years.”


	6. Questions, Questions, Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sees John again. And where is the money coming from that is paying all these people who are harassing Sherlock?

Sherlock glanced over his brother’s shoulder. Suddenly he pulled out his phone, dialing quickly, “It’s Sherlock. I’m sending you a picture. About a week ago, I saw the man in the photo underground when I was talking to Halley. Find him and contact me. Do not, and I mean it, do not approach him.”

Greg shook his head, “You mean that he’s been under our nose all this time.”

Sherlock nodded, “I knew he was new to the area, but didn’t have time to check him out yet.”

The group waited for the call to come in. Mycroft worked, Greg played on his phone, and Sherlock mumbled while pacing.

Sherlock stopped midstride, “You do realize if he is still around, he has plans to kill someone other than me, don’t you? He could have killed me at any time but didn’t. So, someone else is his target.” He looked at Mycroft. “And we know that you’re in John’s way to get to me.”

“Sherlock. I told you that John is locked up and can’t be behind this,” some frustration came through Mycroft’s voice.

“I know what you told me, but I have a feeling,” Sherlock stated with certainty.

Greg asked, “If he could do it, where would he get the money to pay for an operation like this?”

Pulling his hair, Sherlock moaned, “I don’t know, but I’m sure it is him. What about Mary’s money. Could he have found out where it is?”

“No one has been able to locate it Loc.”

Sherlock challenged, “We haven’t proved that it hasn’t been found.”

Mycroft stared at his brother before pressing his intercom, “Anthea, did we ever discover where the deceased Mrs. Watson hid her blood money?”

“No sir, it was never uncovered.”

“Thank you my dear. Could you see if perhaps Dr. Watson has spent more than he had before being incarcerated?” He said before hanging up.

“Sherlock, I’m not saying that you are correct, but I think we need to put some effort into finding Mrs. Watson’s money and who might be using it. Your feelings are customarily correct, so I’m willing to check into it.” Mycroft compromised.

Without too much conviction, Sherlock offered. “I’ll know if I talk to John and if he is responsible. I understand he’s cured.”

Mycroft swore then said, “I don’t want you anywhere near that madman.”

“Don’t you think it should be my choice? He was my friend and accepted me how I was when no one else did. I won’t let him hurt me anymore, but if I talk to him, I’ll know.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

John saw his cell door opening and Sherlock stepping through. Showtime, he thought.

“Oh my God, Sherlock, what happened to you? You don’t look well. Did I do this to you?” John seemed so upset that Sherlock looked concerned.

John started to walk toward him but stopped shyly saying. “May I touch you?”

“No!” Sherlock yelled, then embarrassed, said, “I rather you didn’t.”

John raised his hands and moved back. “I don’t blame you for not trusting me,” then turned away from him. “I lost my best friend, didn’t I?”

“John, I still want to be your friend, but to be honest, I’m not sure if I can trust you right now.”

A grin appeared on his face before John turned around, facing Sherlock again thinking. ‘He still wants to be friends. I need to keep playing him.’ “Oh Sherlock, you don’t know how much that means to me. What can I do to prove that I’m sorry?”

“What do you know about Mary’s money?”

“Well, I know she hid some of her paychecks each week, hoping to have a nest egg in case she needed to run.” 

“I don’t mean her paychecks, but the money she earned killing people.” Sherlock’s comment sounded suspicious.

Knowing he had to stop Sherlock doubting him, he said sadly. “I’m sorry. I thought you meant her paycheck. She always hinted at more money but never told me how much or where it was. I’d tell you if I knew. You believe me, don’t you, or have you lost all your trust in me as your friend?”

“I don’t know. Mycroft said you haven’t changed.”

“I know you love him, but Mycroft has always hated me and wanted me gone. Of course, he would say that.” John let a little anger just peek into his voice, then changed it to make Sherlock feel sorry for him. “He made sure I never had a chance, didn’t he?”

Hurrying to reassure him, Sherlock said, “He wants the best for me and doesn’t hate you. He just wants me to be happy because he loves me that much.”

John looked at the floor, “What can I do to become your friend again?”

“Just give me some time.”

“I suppose it won’t matter. Mycroft will never let you near me again. Since I recovered, I dreamed of living in 221B again with you.”

“I….I don’t know what to say John, I’m not sure if I could do that. With all the things going on, Mycroft’s house seems safer right now.”

“What things?” When Sherlock avoided answering, John begged, “Please Sherlock, tell me what’s going on?”

After thinking, “Someone set up a body set up to look like me when Mycroft rescued me, then I received a phone call with the sounds I made during that time.”

John found it hard to keep the smile off his face, knowing how upset Sherlock was by it. “Bloody hell, Sherlock. Can Mycroft protect you? You know there are dangerous men out there, don’t you?”

Sherlock's insecurity was overwhelming. “Thank you John, but Mycroft has it covered. I need to go now.” Having to leave as he felt a panic attack beginning, he headed toward the door.

“Please don’t go Sherlock,” John asked, sounding as if he was ready to cry.

“I need to. I promise to visit again,” the detective said as he almost ran out of the door.

After Sherlock left the room, John laid on his bed, back to the camera. Carefully he took out the pictures of Sherlock tied up that had been smuggled in for him with the beautiful marks he had put on his body. He thought with a grin. ‘Sherlock is falling apart and will need someone soon besides Mycroft. The next step should do it.’ Smiling wickedly, he fell asleep dreaming of Sherlock in his hands once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I'm a little late posting this chapter. I was asked to teach a class, a new one, and was given two days to get it ready. I will try to get the next one up in a few days.


	7. It's Been A Long Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock makes a large mistake.

As Sherlock left the room, he bumped into Mycroft, “Sherlock, are you alright?” Seeing the panic, in his brother’s face, “I knew this was a bad idea,” He hissed. “Sherlock, look at me.”

But instead, Sherlock ran out the door, unaware of where he was headed or what he planned to do. He ran up the road and through alleys until he arrived at a dilapidated building. Knocking on the door, it opened just a sliver until the person saw the detective.

“Sherly, come in. It’s been a long time. What can I do for you?”

Sherlock pulled out bills, and he held them for a moment before handing them over without a word.

Counting out the bills, “The regular then,” he asked.

A nod finished the transaction. “There’s an empty mattress upstairs.”

With a head shake, Sherlock hurried outside. Now he knew where he was heading home.

As he arrived at home, one of his people handed him an envelope, “Some gen' 'old me 'o give I' 'o you.” The older man said.

Sherlock gave the man a few bills before hurrying upstairs. Rushing into his bedroom, he pulled up the loose board under his bed and removed an ancient wooden box. Grabbing a cup of water, he took it into the seating room, removed needles, tourniquets, lighter and old spoon before he began to stare at the bag he had brought.

Trying to decide if he really wanted to leave his brother and friends wondering what they could have done to prevent him from doing this, he used the indecision to tear open the envelope. A disk fell out. Picking it up, he turned it over and over in his hand before placing it into the player.

He turned on the telly but stopped before turning on the video player. Something was trying to tell him not to start it, but he had to know what was on it. Switching on the video player, before the screen began to lighten, he heard pleas to stop, and the sound of a belt whistling through the air before striking its target repeatedly. The screen lightened so he could see himself tied upon his stomach, and his back was bleeding. He began to shake violently.

Eyes still fixed on the telly, he sprinkled power onto the spoon then added water before clicking the lighter and heating the mixture. Knowing it was too much, he didn’t care. He just wanted to stop the hurting. Pulling up the liquid, he tightened the tourniquet, found a vein, and push the plunger. Laying on the ground, he whispered, “I’m sorry Mycroft. I never meant to hurt you but just can’t live this way any longer,” before the drugs sent him into blackness.

Mrs. Hudson arrived home from shopping and was surprised to see Sherlock’s door open but no noise from the flat. Wondering what her wayward tenant was up too, she hurried to put the shopping away before heading up the stairs. Entering the room, she screamed, “Sherlock,” before rushing to him. Finding a pulse, she quickly dialed the number she had used only a few times before.

“Yes, Mrs. Hudson. I’m sorry, but I’m busy right now,” Mycroft answered.

“I need help, Sherlock is unconscious, and an empty needle is next to him.”

“I’m sending an ambulance now. Please watch over him until they arrive.” Mycroft had signaled Anthea to make the call, then asked in a fearful breath, “He is still breathing, isn’t he?”

“For the moment and he has a pulse, but both are very slow,” Mrs. Hudson teary voice said, “Hurry.”

+++++++++++++++++++++

Mycroft rushed up the emergency room’s central desk, “Sherlock Holmes?” he demanded.

Looking at the admission record, she saw someone else’s man on it. “I’m sorry Sir, only his emergency contact is allowed in his room at this time. And that would be John Watson.”

“I’m his brother and demand to see him now!”

“Sir, please don’t yell. Other sick people can’t be disturbed. Now, if you want to wait, we’re still trying to reach Mr. Watson.”

Before he could say anything else, Anthea arrived and said, “I believe Miss you’ll see there is an updated form that names Mr. Holmes as his brother’s contact.”

“I assure you,” the receptionist started but stopped when she looked down on the screen, “I’m sure I checked. Excuse me Mr. Holmes. It seems the computer just updated the information. You’ll find your brother in ER room five.”

Before Mycroft took her to task, Anthea pulled his arm toward the room.

They entered quickly to see two tubes, one in his nose draining deep green drainage and another in his mouth to help him breathe. Currently, a nurse was pressing a large bulb attached to the second tube in time with a nurse pressing on his chest—a drip in his arm. The doctor was calling out drugs that were pushed quickly in the IV’s port as the heart monitor was screaming. 

“Who let them in here?” Someone called out.

“Family,” said someone else. “The new ACLS guideline allowed the family to be with their loved ones during coding incidents.”

A few minutes later, the screaming stopped, and a slow but regular beep took its place. The doctor said, “Take him to CCU and keep the drip going. I’ll be up in after I speak to the family.”

With that, he walked out of the room, indicating Mycroft and Anthea should follow him. Once they entered a private room, he sat down, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Holmes? “he started then looked at Anthea in question.

“She’s his cousin. How’s my brother?” 

“He’s alive, but his chances are only 50/50. I understand he’s a long-term drug user, and the damage done by drugs to his lungs before has enlarged.”

“Previous damage?” Mycroft asked.

“There is scar tissue on his lung that must have been produced by the previous drug use, and the stress of this overdose is causing it to expand.” 

Mycroft was furious that the doctor made assumptions without facts. “That scar tissue is from an assassin’s bullet, not the drugs as you so careless assumed. Yes, he used drugs before, but your unprofessional attitude without facts is unacceptable.” He glanced at Anthea.

“A room will be waiting when he is ready to be moved, sir.”

“I’m his doctor, and you can’t move him. He would need a whole team to transport him safely,” the doctor’s raised voice brought a scowl to Mycroft’s face.

“I double that your personal prejudges will permit you to give my brother the care he needs. So, his safety is no longer your concern, as you’re no longer his doctor. Someone else will be here within 15 minutes to determine if he can be moved, if not to take over his care until he can.” Mycroft dismissal was apparent.

“You can’t do that,” the doctor yelled.

“You’ll see he can,” Anthea said without looking up from her Blackberry. “I suggest you finish up whatever documentation is required of you so that his doctor can safely take over his care.”

“We’ll see about this,” the doctor shouted before slamming the door on the way out.

Heading up to the ICU, Mycroft asked, “Who’s coming?”

“Dr. Vandervoort, who cared for Sherlock’s when he was shot. The current information is being sent to him right now, so he’s up to speed when he arrives.”


	8. He Was My Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock wakes up in the hospital and talks to Mycroft.

Mycroft and Anthea sat in the CCU waiting room while they settled Sherlock. “Why would he do it? I don’t understand. He was back helping Lestrade and seemed comfortable around the house and his friends, that is until he saw Dr. Watson today.”

“Mrs. Hudson did say the television was on, and the video machine was running when she came in.”

Mycroft looked up, alarmed, “Did she say what was running?”

Anthea looked up from her Blackberry, “According to her, there were some screams and begging, but she was too busy with Sherlock to glance at it. I have our team collecting the disk.” 

Putting his head into his hands, “Why did I let him see that monster? He was doing better, I swear.”

“Sherlock has always had a mind of his own. Nothing you would have said would have changed his conviction,” Anthea tried to reassure him.

“Mr. Holmes,” an older man, Dr. Vandervoort, stood in front of him. “After I check over your brother, I’ll be back to see you. Don’t worry. I’ll do my best for him.”

An hour later, Dr. Vandervoort pulled over a chair. “Your brother has two problems. One is that his heart stopped because of the overdose. The second is an expansion of the damage done to his lung from the bullet. The effects of the overdose are under control. However, because of the Xray and CT scan, the lung is a different matter, and I wish to keep him in a coma until the withdrawal has ended to put less strain on his lungs. He will be limited for a long time from doing anything strenuous. That means he won’t be chasing criminals for months and will have an inhaler for the rest of his life. Mr. Holmes, the younger, will need to make considerable changes in his lifestyle, at least for the short term.”

“And transferring him?” Anthea asked, not allowing Mycroft’s voice to show its weakness in front of the doctor.

“I know you would like him in our facility, but I recommend not until his lungs are more stable.”

“I understand that he can’t move until he’s stable, but will he be able to move while he is in a coma for withdrawing. My brother has multiple enemies who would love to find him in this state.”

“We would need a crew to transfer him, but it can be accomplished.” The doctor said.

++++++++++++++++++++

When Sherlock finally woke up, he glanced around the room. It was obviously a hospital, but he could tell it was too posh to be a normal one. Mycroft must have had him admitted to the MI5 facility. He hadn’t died. Tears came to his eyes as he was a drain on everyone and had tried so hard to give them all a way out. But once again, he had failed.

“Loc.”

Sherlock looked toward his left to see his brother sitting there. The man looked rumpled. His eyes had huge dark circles under them, and he looked like he had lost weight again. “My, I’m sorry.”

“Why Loc? I thought you knew that I didn’t care what Dr. Watson had put you through. Nothing will make me stop loving you. Sherlock, if you were to die, then I would quickly follow you.”

“The video,” Sherlock tried to explain but was at a loss for words.

“The video is an example of an irrational mind. Watson's demented mind has mixed up love with possession. There was nothing you could have done. He used you against your will, drugged you, beat you, and humiliated you determine to make you love him. That is not love; it’s ownership.”

“He was sick, Mikey. I feel sorry for him now that I know that.”

Mycroft yelled, “Sorry for him,” Seeing his brother flinch. “Sorry Loc, I didn’t mean to raise my voice. Surely you can see his actions are unforgivable.”

“He was my friend. How can I not forgive him?”

Mycroft was becoming more frustrated, “A friend doesn’t do what he did to you no matter how sick he is. Sherlock, he wanted you as a personal slave—even he admitted that. THAT IS NOT LOVE.”

Sherlock’s voice became quiet, “He was the only one who actually accepted me for who I was. He called me his best friend. Mycroft, I can’t just give up on him.”

“Sherlock, please see him for who he is,” Mycroft begged.

“I’m tired and don’t want to discuss this anymore.” Sherlock pulled the covers over his head. 

“Loc?”

“Good-bye Mycroft.” Was all Sherlock said before turning away from his brother. 

He missed the look of hurt as Mycroft picked up his umbrella, heading toward the door, “I love you Sherlock.” He said as he closed the door to no answer.

++++++++++++++++++++++

The brothers sat in the garden that was surrounded by the hospital walls. “Did you find out who is behind the terror attacks on me?”

“Sorry Loc, nothing I can prove yet,” Mycroft admitted.

“Who do you believe is behind this, and what evidence do you have causing you to lean that way?”

Sighing Mycroft knew his brother would fight him every step of the way. “We believe that it is John Watson who masterminded the attacks.”

Sherlock was furious, “Mycroft, are you that jealous of John that everything happening you blame on him.” Calming down some, “Besides, he doesn’t have the money or intelligence to format these attacks.”

Now Mycroft was exasperated, “First I am not jealous of that man. What I feel for him is disgust. As for his intelligence, he managed to convince the guards to smuggle into the jail cell pictures of you and your reactions to each situation that happened,” his voice kept rising as he continued. “We believe one of the officers on Gregory’s team also took some of the pictures at the crime scene. And finally, Mary’s money hasn’t been found yet. Yet this county doctor has had money to build that room he kept you in and the equipment he used. Also, the jail officers said he paid them a lot of money.”

Both men were breathing hard and silent. “I’m sorry Sherlock, but I truly believe John is behind this reign of terror toward you.”

“What would he gain from it? He’s never going to get out of the psychiatric hospital.”

“I’m not sure, but Sherlock you need to understand, I’m just trying to protect you.”

“I need to see him face to face so that I can observe his actions. I don’t believe he could hate me so much to do this,” Sherlock insisted.

“I forbid it, Sherlock. I’m not going to allow you within ten feet of that mad man,” Mycroft declared.

The brothers regarded each other. Mycroft knew that was the worst thing he could have said as he saw the anger and pain in Sherlock’s eyes.


	9. Some Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One disaster after another.

Slowly and with pain, “You are no different than John, but at least he acknowledges his desire to own me.” Sherlock attempted to leap up but stumbled in pain then hurried to the door. “Don’t bother taking me home. Andrew can drive me without your help. I’ll be too tired to see you this evening.”

Mycroft asked with uncertainty, “You’re still coming to our house, aren’t you?”

“Where else can I go? I still need some help, and Mrs. Hudson is not well enough to give it.” Sherlock shouted back, “Once I’m on my feet, we’ll see.”

Once more, Mycroft felt his heart breaking in two. He hadn’t meant to come across as wanting to own Sherlock but to protect him. Unsure if his brother would forgive him, Mycroft slowly followed him in. As he slowly walked down the hall toward the exit, he heard, “I love you too,” before a door closed.

+++++++++++++

Andrew arrived with a wheelchair to take the discharged Sherlock home. “I don’t need that thing,” the detective grumbled.

“It’s the wheelchair, or I’ll have to call your brother to get his permission to disobey the doctor’s orders,” Andrew grinned knowingly, “And right now, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

With a huff, Sherlock held onto the wall sitting himself down in the chair. “You don’t have to be so underhanded. Especially since you know that I’m not talking to him right now.”

“What can I say, I have a job to do, and could use some cooperation in getting it done. Your brother’s wrath is worse than your irritation. Do you want to tell me what happened last night that he isn’t here to see you get home safely?”

The glare he received had him shrugging his shoulders. “Well, let’s get you home and in bed.” Andrew began pushing him out of the room. “Thank you ladies. We’re heading out now.” He called over to the nurses.

“I’m not tired,” Sherlock complained.

“I’ll make you a deal. If you can walk from the front door to the car, I’ll believe you, and let you stay where you want when we arrive. If not, I put you to bed when we get there.” 

Behind them, a nurse grabbed a phone and dialed a number quickly. “They're leaving now without his brother.” Then he hung up.

As they reached the door, the car was no more than 25 feet from it. Sherlock pushed himself out of the wheelchair slowly and took ten steps before his legs began to collapse.

Andrew caught him, helping him to the car with a grin. 

Sherlock huffed, “Fine, you win. Just wipe that smile off your face before I tell Mycroft you made me walk out here.”

“He would never believe it. Now relax until we get there.” With that, Andrew closed the door, folded the wheelchair putting it in the boot, then slid into the driver’s seat. “Get your belt on Sherlock. I’m not going to have you fall out of that seat because of weakness.”

He complained, “You’re worse than my mother,” then clicked the belt, “Happy now.”

“Ecstatic,” Andrew laughed. The ride was quiet, and Sherlock fell asleep. 

“SHERLOCK, WAKE UP!” Andrew’s shouted, waking up the detective. “Tighten your belt and lower your head.”

“What’s happening?” a suddenly awake Sherlock questioned.

“A car has been following us and now is speeding up. I believe they're trying to ram us. Protect yourself. I’m going to try to outrun them.”

Andrew pressed the panic button, and when a voice answered, “I have the younger brother with me on the way to the house on the outskirts of the city. A car has started a chase, and I’m trying to outrun them. Some interference would be greatly appreciated.”

Anthea's voice came over the mike. “Help is on the way. Is younger taking cover?”

“As much as possible. I have him in the back, belted and laying on the seat. SHIT their trying to get on the side of me, and another car has joined them.”

Hearing shots bouncing off the bulletproof windows and doors, “They're trying to get me to stop. I’m going to try some evasive actions.” The cars behind them tried to split to the sides of their vehicle. 

“We have your location pinpointed. Turn on the next corner to the left, then the following block to the right. We’ll intercept with you there,” Anthea ordered.

Andrew took a left only to be smashed into by a third car. Their car flipped, throwing open the doors. Andrew, who hurried out of the car drawing his gun, was dropped to the ground by a bullet.

Sherlock was trying to get the belt off, but he was dizzy and unable to find the release button. A hand reached in, press the button, and pulled him out of the car, forcing him into the car behind them. Once the detective was inside the vehicle, the car peeled off backward while swinging around at a breakneck speed and disappearing. 

As Mycroft’s men turned the corner, they were blocked by the three-car crash obstructing the road.

“Anthea,” the leader of the rescue called, “They are escaping, and we’re stuck in the middle of this crash. “A deep Blue 1984 Sherpa cargo van, heading east on Smith. There are several crash cars up ahead that were forced into parked vehicles as the van raced to pass them.”

Mycroft apprehensively asked, “Sherlock and Andrew?”.

“The driver is shot in the chest, and our medics are dealing with him,” the leader said.

Almost begging, “And my brother?”

“Nowhere to be found. There is a small amount of blood on the back of the seat where his head would have been. Also, one of his shoes is on the road outside the door.”

+++++++++++++++++

Mycroft moved from the microphone allowing Anthea to lead him from the control room to the sitting room next door.

“We’ll find him sir,” Anthea said.

“I’m not so sure. This whole situation has been out of control, always one step before us.”

A knock on the door before it opened had a messenger waving Anthea over. She headed toward the man and listened to the whispering of the messenger. Dismissing the man, she approached Mycroft.

“Sir, there is some news that you need to know immediately.”

Mycroft looked up at her. “Then spit it out,” he ordered angrily. 

“John Watson escaped.”  
++++++++++++++++


	10. Nothing Has Been Left to Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John reappears, Sherlock has a rough time, and Mycroft is at the end of his rope

Sherlock woke, chained to a wooden chair and gagged. John sat in front of him in a comfortable chair, drink in hand, smiling at him. “Good morning. I suppose you’re surprised to see me here.”

Trying to speak, all the detective achieved was unclear slurs. Sherlock gave up, glaring at the doctor.

“Now, you have questions about how I escaped and can afford all this,” waving to the beautifully decorated room around them. “Money talks I have discovered. And Mary didn’t hide hers very well. You probably should have listened to your brother when he warned you against me, but I knew you wouldn’t. Don’t you think I should get an award for how well I pretended to be insane.”

Once more, Sherlock tried answering him while rattling the chair.

John mimicked, “ _‘Oh, so you’re blaming me, Johnny-boy. Did you forget I’m you? What do you truly want? I think you’re going crazy, or maybe you always have been.’ You’ll never make him love you.’” John laughed, “ I really did an excellent job of confusing you, and making you feel sorry for me, didn’t I?” When John saw Sherlock getting upset, he said, “Excuse me, I’m a poor host, aren’t I.” Then removed the gag from the detective’s mouth._

“Mycroft is going to kill you,” Sherlock warned him. 

“Don’t worry about it this time. Nothing has been left to chance. The few men who helped me with your abduction found themselves in a fiery crash. The stupid guards are already in your brother’s hands and can tell him nothing more than they slipped me the pictures I had in my cell and sent messages for a few hundred pounds. They received their orders in the mail, along with the photos that they passed on to me. The man in Lestrade’s squad knows nothing about me as he gets his orders from someone higher up with a vendetta against you. Even the nurse from the hospital who notified me of your departure will be surprised to discover the phone number he used to contact me was a stolen burner phone.”

“Why John? I was working on getting you released and a place to go.”

John screamed, “I DON’T WANT A PLACE TO GO TO. I WANT YOU.,” then continued with a lower voice. “Your brother constantly interfered with us being together.” Standing up, he lifted a tray with a syringe on it, “That won’t happen again. This will assure it.”

Sherlock eyed the syringe,” What’s in that?”

“Some more of Mary's money well spent. You will receive a shot a day for a while until you will do anything I order without hesitation,” John informed him.

“I’ll never do as you asked,” Sherlock corrected him.

“And one of the best parts of the drug is you’ll only speak when I personally permit you. There is an antidote to reverse what is going to happen to you. As the creator of this is now among the deceased, the chance of you receiving it is almost null..”

Sherlock eyed the needle, “You don’t need to do that, John. I’m your friend and will always be there for you.”

“I don’t want to be your friend. I want to be your lover. Your brother continually interfered when I attempted to get you to return my love. He convinced you to become involved in a crude sexual relationship with him. So now we’re safely out of your brother’s influence, and I’ll have you any way I want. Now, let’s get started.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++

Mycroft had everyone looking for his brother. Once the van disappeared out of the range of the cameras, they had lost them. As each lead fizzled out, he became more despondent. Lady Smallwood approached Anthea, “He can’t keep on like this. He’s not eating or sleeping and, worse, not paying attention to the country’s issues. I’m not a fool, I know you’re protecting him as much as possible, but we need his mind back.

“Lady Smallwood, he’s working as hard as normal and handling the issues. I’m his assistant and not his replacement. If you find his job is being neglected, then perhaps you should tell him so. Or maybe inform the Queen who has faith in his abilities and gave him the job.” Anthea sarcastically told the woman.

Huffing Lady Smallwood left after saying, “Well, he had better get his act together, or I might just need to have the committee decide his future.”

“Old biddy,” Anthea mumbled under her breath before pushing Mycroft’s door the rest of the way open with tea and a sandwich she hoped to get him to eat.

Mycroft looked up as she entered, “That was appreciated but foolish. She is a nasty enemy to have, my dear.”

“She doesn’t scare me. I know you have enough on her to put her in her place if needed.” She handed him the sandwich, “But if you don’t want to see a scary woman, eat that sandwich and drink that tea.”

Sighing Mycroft picked up the tea as sipped it before coughing it out, “How much sugar did you add to this?”

“Four teaspoons, your brain needs energy, and it’s been three days since you ate or drank anything. Now eat and drink that there, then we’ll clean up your emails and problems I couldn’t handle so we can get back to finding your brother.”

“What did I ever do to deserve you? “Mycroft asked as he bit into the sandwich. Smiling, “How did you know this is my favorite?”

“We spies have our secrets.”

After finishing the meal, Mycroft looked up at her. “Do you think Watson is feeding Sherlock?”

“We won’t know until we find them, and sir, we’ll find them. I would like the honor of taking Watson down permanently.”

“I have a better idea, but if you accidentally injure him in the process of arresting him, I’ll have no problem with it,” Mycroft offered, then sadly looked at the picture of him and Sherlock as boys that he had placed on his desk. “I’m just concerned about what condition we’ll find my brother. He hasn’t had time to get better from the last two times Watson hurt him.”

++++++++++++++++++

Sherlock knelt on the floor shaking, between the cold, beatings, hunger, and the drug, he was beginning to lose himself. John rarely allowed him to sleep more than an hour or so at a time and only gave him food or water when it was becoming apparent that he might die without it. The last beating was just an hour ago for saying Mycroft’s name. 

John entered the room again, “Shall we try this once more?” He asked, grabbing Sherlock's arm to insert another dose of the drug. After a few minutes, “Who do you belong to?”

Trying to say his brother’s name, he couldn’t do it, but he fought not to say John’s. A belt struck his back, “I asked you a question. Now answer it.”

Without wanting to, but with the drug in his system, he answered, “You.” 

The belt hit again, “Now try it properly.”

His hurting transport was fighting internally with his mind, finally he said, “You, master.”

“Good, and don’t you forget it. Now bitch, get me a drink,” John ordered.

Sherlock began to rise but was kicked down, “From now on, hands and knees only,”

The night went on like that, unable to fight off the new dose of the drug any longer, he followed order after order, on his knees. He was hungry as he watched John eat a three-course meal. After cleaning up, John dumped his leftovers in a dog dish and ordered Sherlock to eat it without his hands.

Within a few days, although Sherlock tried to refuse John’s orders, between the beatings and drugging, he was doing whatever John ordered. In the few minutes that his mind was clear, he buried memories of his brother and friends. He knew the drug would be taking over his will, and according to John, his only hope of reversing it was dead. Hopefully, once rescued, someone would be able to reconstruct the antidote. Once allowed to lay down, Sherlock curled up on the cold floor and fell asleep dreaming of his brother.


	11. Chocolate Biscuits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone is searching for Watson and Sherlock. Meanwhile, Watson is trying to make Sherlock his.

The days were long for everyone. Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into two months. Mycroft was handling the work that Anthea couldn’t, although she never complained about doing anything he asked. The rest of the time, he was trying to find one small clue to the location of his brother. It was like Sherlock and Watson had been swallowed up.

When Mycroft tried his tea, it tasted like sewer water. He ate as little as possible, and the food he managed to consume tasted like ash, knowing his brother was probably starving as Watson was trying to acquire control of Sherlock’s body and mind. Sleep was a few naps here and there. The weight he was losing would leave his brother nothing to tease him about. Holding his head in his hands, he moaned, “Sherlock, I swear I’ll find you if it’s the last thing I do. Just hold out for me.”

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Meanwhile, Sherlock was losing himself. He knew he couldn’t forget one thing—his brother. Every punishment or injection took away more of his ability to resist. Knowing it would be useless to remember everything, he locked his brother into a room deep inside his mind palace with a coded door to reopen only when he and Mycroft were safe.

The drug, swimming in his body, was causing him to lose portions of himself daily. According to the master, until he received the antidote, this was permanent. However, his brother’s name would remain locked safely away. Sherlock shook his head, fighting the effects of the drugs, not master, but he reminded himself, it was his friend John.

Watson found Sherlock in his mind palace, a situation he had ordered not to happen again. Pulling his belt out of the loops, he brought it down across Sherlock's body. Any movement caused the beating to worsen.

“You are never to go into that mind of yours again,” he ordered. “You are nothing but a piece of meat to do with what I want. Now assume the position, I wish to release my physical needs.” Without any preparation, he pushed in roughly, enjoying the whimpers of pain from the detective.

After finishing, he kicked Sherlock to the floor and ordered, “Get this place cleaned up, fix me some dinner, and then get in your corner. No food or water for you until you do as you’re instructed and remember who your master is.” He watched Sherlock crawl away, then taunted, “Do you think even your self-important, arrogant brother wants you a slut., who bends over for me when ordered? You are nothing except my personal plaything, get that through your head.”

Sherlock did as he was told, blood running down his back and pain screaming throughout his body. After doing as ordered, he struggled into the corner, curling up on an old blanket. Slowly his eyes closed, knowing no one was looking for him. The master said so.

++++++++++++++++++++

The information kept coming in, but nothing led to his brother. Mycroft poured over every invoice, every video until his exhaustion caused him to fall asleep at his desk. Anthea came into the room to see him sleeping, covered him gently, and took up a post at the door that would allow no one to disturb him. 

She pulled out invoices from the boxes of papers all over Mycroft’s office. After sorting them into piles from the stores in the northern part of the country not examined yet, she started looking for any connection, any glimmer of hope. Several hours later, seeing Mycroft stirring, she hurried to fix him some tea, a sandwich, and on a whim some chocolate biscuits. 

Just as Mycroft was about to bite into the biscuit, she grabbed it out of his hand. His eyes raised in surprise. “I planned on eating that,” He complained.

Excitedly she asked, “Sir, aren’t chocolate biscuits your brother’s absolute favorite?”

“Yes, he loves them.”

“I was going over invoices from the new boxes that came in when I noticed something. A few months ago. This grocery store started ordering boxes of them weekly. Nothing before then. The last few weeks, nothing.”

Mycroft looked over the invoices that she handed him. “Do you believe? This can actually be solved.”

“I know if I wanted to brainwash someone at the beginning, I would give treats for behavior, and when I felt he was far enough along, I would withhold them.”

For the first time since Sherlock was taken, Mycroft perked up. “Verify this and have them quietly search the area. My brother has been in that maniac’s hands for far too long. Sent McLaughlin in.”

+++++++++++++++

In a small restaurant in Upper Scotland, four workmen sat at a table eating and talking. An older man was at a table by himself, and at the counter, a man sat eating mumbling to himself.

The older man walked up to the counter, “Mr. Wilson. I was wondering if I could have a word with you?”

Wilson swung around, demanding angrily, “What is it you want?”

Timidly the old man said, “I’m very sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering when you might be paying for the Chocolate biscuits, I specially ordered for you.” He pointed to the large box of biscuits on his table and offered the receipt to Wilson.

“Sell them to someone else. I don’t need them anymore.” Throwing the receipt on the counter, Wilson turned back to his food. “Now don’t bother me, I’m eating.”

“But, sir.”

Wilson hopped off the stool, “Listen, old man, get out of my face. Sell the shit for all I care.” Before stomping out of the building.

While McLaughlin went to the old man, two of the other workers left through the back door.

“Are you okay sir?” McLaughlin asked.

The old man sat back down. “It’s just they were expensive, and I have very little extra money.”

“He’s not a very nice man,” McLaughlin said. “I suppose it’s hard to have him as a neighbor.”

The old man looked up, “Oh, he’s not a neighbor. I guess he lives someplace around here, but no one really knows where.”

The waitress brought over a cup of tea for the old man, “It’s on the house Wally,” she said, smiling and winking at Mclaughlin. 

“Thank you, but you didn’t have to do this,” Wally said.

“I know I didn’t have too, but after dealing with that jerk, you could use it. So, drink up.

Looking McLaughlin up and down, “My name’s Maria. I haven’t seen you around here before.”

“My friends and I are working over in the next county. We were coming back from dropping something off and were hungry. It’s been a long time since we had good downhome cooking.”

“I hope it met your expectations. Would you like some dessert while you wait for your friends to come back?” She asked, indicating the empty seats.

“Actually, I love chocolate biscuits. I’ll tell you what Wally, I’ll buy them off you. My sweet tooth will love them.” Carefully Mclaughlin picked up the box and pushed it across the table to the fourth man of their group before paying for them.

“This is too much,” the old man said, counting the pounds.

Smiling, “Just consider it a delivery fee.” McLaughlin went back to his table and whispered. “Go check the fingerprints. I’m sure it’s Watson, but let’s be positive before informing the boss.”

After the man when to the van to check out the prints, the waitress brought McLaughlin tea. “That was a nice thing you did for old Wally. His store is barely surviving in this area. Too many bigger stores, too close by, giving him too much competition.”

“I really do like chocolate biscuits, so that’s not a problem. That Wilson guy though is really something.” McLaughlin attempted to guide the conversation toward discovering concrete proof that it was Watson.

The change in his hair length and color and the old clothes, plus the fact he had a severe limp, even the accent when he spoke it was to identify him positively. With all the false leads they had investigated, he hoped this one was the right one.


	12. Rescue?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is rescued but what is the result?

“He sure is a jerk. He showed up one-day demanding take out for two every day. Then a month later, he started to show up less frequently and only bought one meal. I don’t blame whoever else was living with him for leaving. He isn’t pleasant to be around.”

“He must live close if he was coming in so often,” trying to keep her speaking.

“I’ve not sure where he lives. We never see him around here except for a meal once and awhile. He always has that jeep of his loaded with boxes when he stops,” she giggled then whispered, “I saw one of those boxes. It was from a sex shop.”

Looking up, McLaughlin saw the fourth man waving him over. “Thank you for the wonderful tea and conversation. I guess my guys want to get going. See you later.” He stood, dropped a tip, and winked before leaving.

“It’s Watson,” the fourth man said. “The others lost him in the forest area, but we’re close.”

With aerial photos and investigations, it still took a week to find the house where Watson was living. The reason for the delay was the fact that it was built into the side of a mountain hiding it from easy access.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The rescue plan took five days to become a reality. The way the house was buried in the hills allowed only one-way in. The area up to the site was clear of all obstructions. A frontal assault could be dangerous for not only Mycroft’s men but also Sherlock. 

“I have an idea sir,” one of his men said. With a nod from Mycroft, he continued. “If we use a Stealth helicopter to repel down on top of the mountain, then repel right to the front of the door, rushing him.” 

Anthea glanced at Mycroft, “Sir, I’m afraid there’s not much chance of Watson not knowing we’re there. I believe our people will just have to rush the site and hopefully get to Sherlock quickly. However, I also believe Watson doesn’t want him dead, so this might be our one advantage.”

After thinking it over, “You’re correct. I’ll be leading the team in. Let’s get my brother back.” 

“Sir,” Anthea cautioned

A glare from Mycroft stopped her, “And I’ll be right by your side,” she finished

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Mycroft was stopped at the door by Anthea’s hand on his arm, “Sir you need to allow us to go in first. It's been two months, and we're not sure that Sherlock is alive or what his condition is. Plus, Dr. Watson knows we are here.”

“I understand your concern, but that is my brother in there. And depending on how much damage Watson has done to Sherlock will determine how the doctor leaves the room. However, I promise you if Sherlock isn’t alive, Doctor Watson won’t live.” With that, Mycroft smoothes down his clothes and for the first time in a month, looked like the Iceman that people think he is.

Pushing open the door, they found John Watson sitting in his chair, a gun in his hand pressed to Sherlock's head. A naked Sherlock was kneeling next to him with a gag in his mouth, arms and legs chained together behind his back, and a collar around his neck with a dog chain attached to it.

From the doorway, they could see the scars across Sherlock’s back, legs, and arms. He was extremely malnourished with ribs protruding against his skin. Weakness was causing the detective to have a problem kneeling straight. From what they could see, bruises covered his antecubital from injections. And never once did the detective looked toward the noise in the room. Instead, he kept his eyes on the floor. 

“Ah, about time, you showed up Mycroft. We've been waiting for you, haven't we bitch.” When there was no response from the detective, John used the riding crop, whipping it across Sherlock's body. “I spoke to you, boy, and expect you to respond.” Sherlock nodded slowly. John grabbed his hair. “You have been trained better than this. One more slight, and your brother will see how you’re punished.” Anthea managed to grab Mycroft as he headed towards the doctor, murder in his eyes.

“Oh, come on Iceman, surely, you're not going to let a woman stop you from trying to mete out the justice you feel I deserve. For you to justify anything, you must prove that this slut isn't here voluntarily. Boy, go tell your brother that you wish to stay here by me.” Sherlock hung his head, “Look at me, boy. Did you hear what I told you?” Sherlock nodded again, “Then crawl to your brother, look into his eyes, and tell him to who you belong.” 

John yanked the ball gag out of the detective's mouth, pulling a large amount of hair with it. Standing, he brought the riding crop down across Sherlock’s back wickedly, making it bleed then screamed, “Now!”

Sherlock began to shuffle on his knees due to the way his body was chained. With tears slowly running down his face, he reached Mycroft. Opening his mouth to do as told, but when he saw the sad look on his brother’s face, only the word “Mikey” came out.

“I spoke to you, you useless bag of shit,” John screamed, coming towards the detective. He raised the crop to strike again, but before touching him, a shot rang out from behind Mycroft, causing the doctor to fall holding his bleeding knee.

John began screaming in pain and cursing everyone in the room, saying: “When I can stand up, you will all pay for your unprovoked attack.”

Anthea walked up to him and shot his other knee out, causing only an eye lift from Mycroft. She threw the discarded ball-gag to one of Mycroft’s guards and said, “Will someone shut him up, I never could stand his mouth.”

As Mycroft rushed toward Sherlock, the detective fell over unconscious at his feet. Anthea grabbed the key to the chains and handed it to her boss. Mycroft released his brother's arms and legs before rubbing them to get circulation back into them. He mumbled Sherlock’s name over and over, asking the detective to forgive him for taking so long to save him.

Sherlock opened his eyes, gave a small smile, and became unconscious again. The ambulance personnel from M15 came running in and headed toward Watson. Mycroft ordered, “One of you stop his bleeding so he lives to pay for what he did to my brother. However, no pain medications, it’s about time he feels some of the pain that he has caused others. The rest of you check out my brother.”

The men looked at their boss, obviously not sure what had happened, but did as ordered.

“You monster. I’m in pain here,” Watson tried to yell through the gag.

Anthea kicked him in the side, “Not even half of what you deserve. Now shut up.”

As the one EMT wrapped Watson’s knees, ignoring his mumbled screams, the others headed toward Sherlock.

The EMT called out, “Blood pressure 70/40, heart rate thready at 155, respiratory rate of 35, fever of 102F (38.9c), inside of his mouth is dry, and his skin was cool mottled and tenting. This man is in severe dehydration. Get an IV was set up of Normal Sodium with electrolytes open wide before he goes into convulsions.”

Anthea placed a hand on his shoulder as she ordered the doctor removed, “Look after Sherlock. I’ll take care of Watson. Afterall he always wanted to go out with me. I’ll see to it. He’ll have a date that he’ll never forget.”

“Lock him up in the deepest pit we have, double the guards, and see to his knees, so he doesn’t bleed to death or get an infection, but if he doesn’t walk again, it won’t upset me. Other than that, you may see what information about the drug you can get out of him, but ensure he is able to speak when I’m ready to question him,” Mycroft ordered. As Anthea was following the doctor out, Mycroft whispered: “Thank you.”

“I’ll be happy to see to the Doctor’s care myself. Just worry about your brother.” 

Mycroft handed his home address to the ambulance driver, “You’ll be taking him to this address. There’s a whole medical staff and set up waiting for him.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

After Sherlock was attached to numerous machines, the doctor's examination complete, everyone cleared the room, Mycroft sat by his brother. “I’m sorry little brother, that I broke my promise to you. I assured you that Dr. Watson would never touch you again, but I let my guard down over a stupid argument. Will you ever be able to forgive me?”

Mycroft sat beside the bed, his laptop on a table doing his work. Food and clean clothes were brought into him by Anthea, but neither were touched.

“You need to rest,” she insisted on the fourth day. “He’s going to need your strength when he wakes up.”

“How can I when I know he is in this condition because I let my guard down.”

Anthea put her hands on her hips and furiously ordered, “Mycroft Holmes, you stop that right now. Andrew was one of the most experienced agents and drivers that was assigned to you personally by the head of MI5. Your brother couldn’t have been in better hands. So, get over yourself and think of Sherlock.”

“That’s all I’m doing,” Mycroft yelled back.

“Then take a shower, get dressed, eat a meal, then come back ready to work until your brother wakes up.”

After a moment, Mycroft stood up, head down, leaving to do as told. 

An hour later, he was back, looking like the iceman. “Thank you,” he said, sitting down. “Should we get some work done while we wait for my brother to finish his nap.”

++++++++++++++++++++

As Mycroft waited, he thought about how Sherlock would wake up. Would he be so physically or mentally injured that he wouldn’t be able to live a life as before? What about Watson, would he cooperate with them, or would other methods need to be used to get him to talk? And the most important question, would his Sherlock come back to him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part one. We'll see Sherlock safe but more angst to come. Eurus makes an appearance and as always a happy ending after a lot more angst. And John, I have a lot of suggestions that I thank you for, and a few of my own.  
> Be back soon with part 2.
> 
> Thanks for reading and comment==an the great Kudos. I appreciate them all.

**Author's Note:**

> Angst hasn't ended for the Holmes and their friends. This is the middle of a three-part story theme in my series. He's Mine, Hold me Tight, Keep me Safe-part 1 and part 2. I would never leave our guys without a happy ending but it will take time.


End file.
